


Friday Nights

by xCake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, F/M, Sex Pollen, Smut, alcohol use, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: The air was a little thick, a little strange in that cold, abandoned warehouse where the two of you went for your mission. Maybe you breathed in something you shouldn’t have. Maybe Steve did, too. Neither of you cared.[ Steve x Reader ]





	Friday Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous request on Tumblr. Enjoy! ;)

It wasn’t unusual. At first.

You’d just strapped yourself securely into the seat next to Steve in the cockpit of the Quinjet. He was already flipping switches and buttons to prepare for take-off, and he didn’t even spare a glance when your hand brushed against his knee to activate the thrusters.

It was incredibly common, actually, because the two of you often got sent out on quick in-and-out missions. While others were certainly more lethal, you were the fastest of anyone, and quick missions like this were your specialty. Paired with Steve’s enhanced abilities, the two of you made a good team.

When you reached altitude, it started slow, like a gentle buzz in your toes and fingertips. You blamed it on the turbulence, the way the rough winds made your small plane shudder and quake in the sky. It was kind of like riding a motorcycle, with your body absorbing the vibrations.

Over about fifteen minutes of you being absorbed in a novel and Steve fiddling with the controls every so often, the feeling slowly morphed to a rush of heat through your body. You blamed that on the Quinjet’s always-faulty temperature regulation system. Your combat gear was thick, so you unbuckled your seatbelt to go change into something more comfortable. You and Steve were on your way back home, now, so it wasn’t like you needed the uniform anymore.

That wasn’t unusual, either. You often changed on the way back because you liked a night out on the town afterwards to burn off some work stress and excess adrenaline. Sam, your best friend, was the same, and the two of you went out a couple times a week. He didn’t drink like you did, though – he, like a normal person, drank just to have a good time with friends. Having been a counsellor at the VA for a couple of years, he knew that alcohol was your vice, and he looked out for you. You only spilled your troubles to him after you had a few shots, never before.

When you and Sam were paired up together for a mission, the two of you were absolutely ridiculous on the return trip. You always brought along a couple of different skimpy outfits, and he always offered some stupid, obnoxious feedback about them at the expense of everyone else having to listen. You modelled and posed, and when it was his turn, he did it too and your feedback was even less work appropriate. He’d been your best friend for years. Kind of drove everyone else nuts, if they were being honest. That was the exact reason why you were rarely assigned together.

It was a shame, really, because you and Sam got on so well – but at the same time, it gave you more opportunities to work with Steve. You certainly didn’t mind that, because he was stupidly attractive and you loved any extra time you got to spend with him. 

As you got to your feet, your thigh brushed against Steve’s leather-gloved hand on the thruster and, this time, his eyes immediately shot up to you. Not that you noticed, because you were too busy fussing with your weapons belt.

Your body was hot. You didn’t even fully leave the cockpit before you started stripping. It was innocent enough: you just wanted to rid yourself of your belt, heavy Kevlar vest, and the long-sleeved tac shirt underneath. You still had on a tank top and sports bra, and it wasn’t like Steve hadn’t seen any of it before. You’d gone on missions together in hotter places. Mexico. Morocco. Indonesia.

The belt came off with a single click, and you dropped it on the floor of the cockpit. The velcro on your vest ripped open easily and you swore at a buckle that always gave you trouble, before it finally slid open and you pulled the vest off, throwing it down on your seat. Then, as you pulled the long-sleeved shirt over your head, your dog tags caught on the fabric – and when they came loose, they jingled as they fell back against your cleavage.

Your eyes briefly fluttered shut for a moment at the sudden cold chill of the metal against hypersensitive skin. It felt good. A shaky breath escaped you from the feeling, one that didn’t go unnoticed.

When you turned around to place all of your discarded gear on the deck behind you, you caught Steve staring up at you in awe with those lovely baby blues like you were an absolute goddess.

For a second, you stilled at the sight of him. His forehead was damp with sweat, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips parted. He looked like he’d just run a marathon – or, because you weren’t in your right mind, like he’d just fucked the life out of someone. You’d certainly be a willing volunteer. It hadn’t been an exerting mission, though, but a simple one: collect some intel from an old, abandoned warehouse. You’d been in and out in less than twenty minutes and neither of you had broken a sweat until now.

You were going to kick Tony’s ass for not fixing that god damned temperature regulator.

Despite the sweltering heat, you gave him a cheeky grin. “Enjoy the show, Rogers?”

He huffed – literally, audibly huffed and turned back to the dark sky in front of him, focusing back on the control panel like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “You know it’s not like that.”

His petulant reaction made you smile. He was always so fun to tease.

“But _Captain_ ,” you purred, trailing a finger down the shoulder of his thick uniform. “You’re blushing.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw before he said your last name, once, with such command that it sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “That’s enough.”

Yikes.

It was from pure instinct that your posture straightened, and you had to stop yourself before you instinctively brought your hand up to your brow to salute. Old habits die hard, and this was certainly one of them – especially when he used that authoritative tone you loved so much. In this particular moment, you loved it even more. You could already feel the sticky heat accumulating in your panties.

That wasn’t unusual, either, when Steve used that voice on you in such a casual setting. You had it bad for him.

“Yes sir,” you responded, not nearly as firmly as you meant it to sound, before you climbed out of the cockpit to pack up your gear and change.

He was touchy tonight. You weren’t going anywhere near that. No, you were going to the club.

##  **~~\---~~ **

It was always hilarious, the way you exited the Quinjet like this almost every Friday night. Smoky eyes, matte plum lips, and messy hair perfectly suited your little black dress and patent stilettos, but the bag slung over your shoulder wasn’t a cute purse like one would expect to see with such an outfit. Instead, it was a large, heavy duffel bag containing all of your gear and weapons. Even though it weighed about fifty pounds and was almost as big as you, you still carried it so easily despite the four-inch heels on your feet.

Steve trailed behind you carrying his own equipment, but the two of you hadn’t exchanged a single word since he’d snapped at you in the plane. You didn’t really care. You were planning to get drunk either way, and tonight, you were going to drink to forget about how fucking sexy it was when Steve gave you orders.

As you strode past the living room, heavy bag in tow, Sam’s wolf-whistle caught your attention and you popped your head in the doorway.

“Damn, baby girl,” he said with a grin, giving you an upwards nod. “Think I can get those digits?”

Sam wasn’t flirting, of course, and you snorted.

He was already dressed and ready to go to the club with you, wearing a puffer vest over a tight red t-shirt, a pair of loose jeans and his favourite timbs. On the couch, you spotted Bucky, who you knew wouldn’t be coming along – he never did. He gave you a quick once-over in greeting, amusement playing out on his features.

“Give me five,” you told Sam, gesturing to your duffel bag, before you nodded at Bucky. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, doll.”

Then you turned around and made your way upstairs to finish getting ready; not much, as you just needed to brush your teeth and grab your clutch. You were too focused on getting your things together that you were somehow able to ignore the burning heat still coursing through your veins.

For a little while, at least.

##  **~~\---~~**

The click of your heels faded the further you went up the stairs, and when the coast was clear, Steve walked into the living room. He could still smell the sweet scent of your perfume lingering in the air, and right now, it was driving him insane. He was still in uniform, shield strapped to his back with a duffel bag of his own gear in hand.

Sam immediately let out a groan at the sight. “Come on, man. You’ve gotta come out with us tonight. Let loose a little.”

“No thanks,” Steve replied, clearly on edge, dropping the duffel to the floor before he took off his gloves. Then he fetched a glass from the cabinet and went to the sink. He was hot, too hot, and seeing you that tight fucking dress hadn’t helped him at all. It never did, but tonight, he was barely able to resist doing something he knew he shouldn’t. He nearly had you up against the wall in the plane, but the journey was a short one, and for that he was eternally thankful. He couldn’t have held back much longer.

The glass filled quickly, and he drained it just as fast. Then he did it again. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him – probably knew that something was up – but Steve ignored it until his friend finally asked, “You okay, Steve?”

Steve glanced over at Bucky, and then he sat the glass down on the counter. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Yeah, Buck. Just hot.” 

Never mind the fact that the mission had been in literal Canadian tundra.

Sam just had the most shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, I wonder why. I _know_ you saw her, Cap. She’s been lookin’ like a real snack lately, hasn’t she?”

Steve shot Sam a look, one that plainly said he wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. It only made Sam get on his case even more.

After one more glass of water, Steve ignored Sam’s teasing and went upstairs, too. He needed to clear his head. A couple of punching bags at the gym would do just fine. It wouldn’t ease the burning heat inside of him, but it would serve as a temporary distraction.

##  **~~\---~~ **

A few minutes later, you were back downstairs with a bottle of vodka. Drinking was expensive, so you and Sam liked to pre-game – not much, just a shot or two before you went out. Saved a couple of bucks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?” you asked Sam as he poured you each a shot, and then a third for Bucky. You knew he didn’t like to go out very often, but he certainly didn’t mind having drinks with the two of you before you left. You were never sure why, because the alcohol didn’t affect him. Maybe he liked the social aspect of it.

“Successful mission?” Sam offered with an obvious wink.

You knew what he was implying, and you rolled your eyes at it. No, you hadn’t slept with the Captain which, quite frankly, made you feel a little irritable. Right now, you wanted to more than ever – especially after the way he’d looked at you on the plane. There was some clear tension between the two of you, but you were probably just imagining it.

In response to Sam’s question, you immediately threw the shot back, biting into a slice of lemon afterwards. Both of them just stared at you.

“What?” you asked, shrugging. “You boys need to keep up. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that conversation yet.”

Not that you’d be talking about it at all, but hey. Shots.

##  **~~\---~~ **

What was supposed to be pre-gaming wound up turning into an unplanned party. It wasn’t intentional. You, Sam, and Bucky started to play quarters in between jokes and shots, and then Tony showed up. That was all it took, because it was _Tony_.

Fire was coursing through your veins. You blamed it on the alcohol. Your body was hot, and your skin almost ached with a need to be touched – almost like the exact opposite of what happened when you got the flu. Your bare legs were thrown casually over Bucky’s lap as you conversed about some guns that were soon to be on the market. You had your eyes on an upcoming beretta, but he liked the improved anti-jam mechanism on the newest glock. It wasn’t exactly an argument, but it was more than just a normal conversation; a heated debate, maybe.

The black denim of his pants was coarse against your smooth legs, and when you moved, the material seemed to chafe in the most pleasant way. It felt good.

Everything felt good.

Even the way Nat announced her arrival, trailing her hand up your arm to settle on your shoulder before she leaned in to say hello. She’d always been touchy-feely with you, offering you kiss on the cheek, a hug, an arm around your shoulders – but for the first time in your life, the feeling of her fingertips on your skin sparked something primal inside of you. It turned you on.

Her breath against your ear when she spoke sent a shiver through you, one that both she and Bucky very clearly noticed.

“You’re a little flushed,” she said, immediately concerned, holding her wrist against your forehead. She knew you well, and you hadn’t yet drunk enough to get that kind of flush so she thought it might be a fever. It wasn’t. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you told her with a dazed smile. “Just felt nice.”

Nat pursed her lips together, but she trusted you. She’d seen you drunk a million times before and she knew that you knew your limits – so she trusted you, like always. Temperature-wise, you felt fine anyway, and she knew no one here would drug you. You’d be safe with Bucky.

After a couple more minutes of gun debate that she commented on, she disappeared into the slowly growing crowd and you shifted closer to Bucky, enjoying the feeling of his body heat and the soft material of his shirt against your skin. You got handsy when you were drinking, a fact that was well-known by just about everyone. Not inappropriately so, really, but you definitely liked to be physically close to people. Most of them indulged you because you were _you,_ and Bucky was no different.

It was almost a necessity, anyway, in order to keep talking to him. It was louder here, now, with more bodies in the vicinity and you had to lean in closer to even hear him at all.

##  **~~\---~~ **

Steve finally popped downstairs an hour or two after the party had started. He really only knew it was happening because Sam had texted him a video of you cheering someone on in the background, your skirt riding up entirely too high. He knew Sam had sent it to him on purpose. 

He hadn’t planned to do a single thing tonight after the mission except blow off some steam in the gym. It hadn’t helped at all. He wasn’t feeling quite right, almost like he was sick with a fever, but he never got ill after the serum. His body felt way too hot, but he took his temperature anyway and it was normal. Of course it was.

Getting changed had been kind of an adventure, with the different fabrics brushing pleasantly across his skin as he took off his uniform: leather, linen, metal. The soft material of his gym clothes felt too good against his skin, and when he finally decided to shower and get dressed for the party, his button-down shirt and pants didn’t feel nearly as nice. Not that it mattered.

Steve knew something was off, but he almost felt too good to care.

The moment he spotted you in the crowd, what was once a pleasant burn quickly became a roaring inferno. You were sitting next to Bucky, half in his lap, with one delicate arm hooked around his neck while the two of you conversed. Bucky’s metal hand was resting on your thigh and if Steve was in his rational mind, he would have assumed that Bucky had only put it there out of habit.

At first.

When he got closer, he saw that Bucky’s fingers were ever-so-slightly stroking – stroking the soft skin of your thigh before ghosting back against it again. You chewed your lip, mid-conversation, looking at Bucky with what evenSteve could only describe as a ‘fuck me’ look: eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. When Bucky leaned in to whisper something into your ear, the smile that came across your pretty plum lips was absolutely sinful.

If Steve could so easily see the effect the alcohol had on you, there was no way that his best friend couldn’t, not with you in his arms like this.

It set him off.

Before Steve had a chance to intervene, however, Vision pulled him into a conversation about the earlier mission. He was curious to know about the things he’d seen in Canada, about how the authorities reacted to them on the police scanner – no doubt trying to compile some statistics about whatever it was he liked to do.

By the time Steve was able to wrench himself from that conversation, you were gone.

A half-full bottle of vodka sat on the counter near him, and he drained it in seconds.

##  **~~\---~~ **

Steve found your stilettos discarded haphazardly in the corridor leading to Bucky’s apartment. He knew what was going on. Of course he did. He wasn’t stupid, but why he still wanted confirmation of it all was beyond him.

Your soft laughter and delighted gasps echoed through the hallway. As much as he hated knowing that he wasn’t the cause, the sound shot straight to his cock anyway. He should have known better than to follow you up here like this. You weren’t his girlfriend. That was a fantasy that he’d kept under lock and key for entirely too long. 

It drove him absolutely insane to see the difference in you every time you changed from your unflattering uniform into a tight, skimpy club dress and heels. The heavy makeup you wore on some nights made the breath catch in his throat, because all he could imagine were those pretty painted lips wrapped around his cock. All of the perfect, unblemished skin you showed on those nights – your thighs, your breasts, your shoulders and back – he’d been wanting to mark it up for months.

And now, your breathy laughter was making him rock fucking hard and he didn’t know why he couldn’t just _stop_ and go back to his room and take care of it himself.

When the door suddenly opened, it startled him. Bucky was there. It was almost like he’d known that Steve had been watching the two of you downstairs, and he’d been waiting for him to show up.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve hissed quietly, not wanting to alert you that he was here.

“It’s not what you think,” Bucky told him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn’t. He sounded genuine, not panicked in the least, but Steve still didn’t want to believe him. He’d seen the way you were looking at him, at Bucky, like you were about to beg for something that Steve desperately wanted to give to you. “Come on, punk. Here. I’ll show you.”

Steve took a slow, shaky breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to calm himself. Maybe it really was nothing. If so, then good, great – but he still had a growing problem in his pants that needed to be addressed. When he took a step inside, he discreetly adjusted himself while Bucky shut the door again. Even _that_ felt too good. It was a problem.

Bucky’s apartment in the compound was small and sparse. The kitchenette didn’t hold much, and the fridge was just large enough for one person. Steve had been here plenty of times before; knew exactly where the bathroom was, straight down the hallway next to the only bedroom.

The bedroom that you were absolutely not in like he’d expected you to be.

Instead, you were splayed out on Bucky’s plush sofa, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. The fabric on the lounge was a soft grey suede, and you were absentmindedly rubbing one of your palms on it, relishing in way it felt against your skin. The fingers of your other hand were curled loosely in the fleece throw blanket above your head.

Of course, your dress had ridden up quite a bit. Steve caught just a peek of your purple panties, and Bucky must have too, but both of them were gentlemen and quickly averted their eyes.

Steve couldn’t help but ask again, “What the _hell,_ Buck?”

“She’s on something,” Bucky explained. “Some drug. Don’t know what. Maybe molly.”

The confusion must have shown on his face, because Bucky told him plainly, “It makes everything feel really, really good. Amazing, apparently.”

He wasn’t speaking from experience. Recreational drugs didn’t work on them. How the hell Bucky even knew about them was a conversation for another day.

As if on cue, you took the fleece blanket and lifted your thighs to rub it directly onto them. Your dress shifted higher and offered a particularly good view of your ass in your purple g-string, to which Steve let out the quietest groan at the sight, barely able to hold back from palming himself right there in Bucky’s living room. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Stevie!” you said excitedly, then, hopping up from the sofa with a little bit of a struggle as you tried to find your footing. “You made it!”

He swallowed thickly, taking in the sight of you with what felt like fresh eyes. Your skin was flushed, most noticeably on your cheeks and chest, and your dress was revealing far too much. Your hair was a right mess, now, not a perfect one like before but he didn’t care at all – all he cared about was the way you were looking at him. Your eyes were slightly glazed over, and the way you worried your lip in between your teeth did nothing for the stiffness in his pants.

“Yeah, doll,” he said weakly. “I made it.”

The moment your small hand slid into his, his skin almost burned under your touch. He thanked whatever deity there was that he’d rolled his sleeves up earlier, because when you pulled him down onto the couch with you, your delicate fingers started to trace hot fire on his forearms.

His knuckles brushed against the fleece blanket, then, and it felt good. Too good. 

Whatever this was, he must have been affected by it too but he couldn’t really bring himself to care with you so close to him like this. You were absolutely intoxicating: the smell of your sweet perfume with just the slightest hint of sweat; the feeling of your skin against his, your soft body against him; and, most importantly, the almost fucked-out expression on your face.

God, you were going to be the death of him.

The air had been a little thick, a little strange in that cold, abandoned warehouse where the two of you went for your mission. Maybe you breathed in something you shouldn’t have. Maybe he did, too. He didn’t care.

Bucky leaned on the back of the sofa, whispering to him, “It’s not molly, is it?”

It was a statement, not a question.

His hot breath against Steve’s ear made Steve grit his teeth. That was all the answer Bucky needed.

“Did you eat anything? Drink anything? What—”

“Boys,” you whined, tugging at Bucky’s hand on the backrest above your head. “Who’s Molly? Do I know her?”

You were rolling hard and you didn’t even know you were. Neither did he.

Bucky clearly did.

“No, sweetheart,” Bucky told you, stroking your hair. “You sure don’t.”

Bucky had always been affectionate with you, and Steve never minded, really; he knew how touch-starved his friend had been for far too long. Right now, though, it pissed him off because the way you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, was so fucking sexy and it drove him up a wall.

Only when Bucky’s hand suddenly stilled did Steve realize how obvious his thoughts must have been.

It was too hard to concentrate. The soft, plush fabrics, the heat from your hands and your body, the way your fingertips were trailing a blazing path over the back of his hand and up his arm; how, when you half-turned around to talk to Bucky some more, your soft breasts pressed right into his bicep and, _fuck_ , it felt amazing. All of it.

He could only imagine how good your fingers would feel around his cock. Your lips. Your tongue. How good _you_ would feel, so wet and tight and fucking soakedfor him. There was a very distinct wet patch on your panties when he’d glimpsed them, and it was driving him insane.

##  **~~\---~~ **

It was someone’s idea to put on a movie. You weren’t sure who, and you didn’t care. It didn’t matter, either, because you weren’t watching it.

All you could focus on was the heavy weight of Steve’s arm around your shoulders and the fact that his body heat almost seemed to radiate off of him as you leaned into his side. Bucky was on the other side of you on the sofa, but he was keeping his distance, now, especially compared to earlier. You vaguely recollected that you’d basically sat in his lap at one point but honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You were rolling. Must have been the alcohol.

Steve’s fingers traced slow, delicate patterns on your bare shoulder and upper arm, which was pleasant and nice – and then, when his other hand came to rest above your knee, the breath caught in your throat. His palm was a hot brand on your skin, unmoving, but you desperately wanted him to move it higher. The fact that he was so close to you already was bad enough, but knowing his hand was inches away from your throbbing core was sending you up a wall. 

You nearly reached out and dragged it higher yourself.

When the credits started to roll, you didn’t even notice until Bucky cleared his throat.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, a clear indication that you and Steve needed to leave.

“No worries,” you said with a dopey smile as you wobbled onto your feet, collecting his fleece blanket in your arms. “I’m taking this. It’s mine now.”

Bucky barely stifled a laugh. “Sure, doll. It’s all yours.”

“See you in the mornin’, Buck,” Steve said, to which Bucky gave him a very clear, very pointed look. He wasn’t too sure what it meant, other than it involved you. Then when Bucky winked, he knew exactly what he meant.

Fucking hell. 

“Night,” Bucky said cheerfully, pretty much slamming the door in your faces. Not that either of you cared.

The walk to the stairs was quiet and awkward. You could have taken the elevator, but that meant less time together and this was nice. Your apartment was on the floor below, so the two of you made your way there in near-silence. It was late, but you couldn’t be bothered pulling your phone out to check.

When you reached your door, there was a lingering pause when you hesitated.

He did too.

When you finally got enough nerve, you asked him with another grin, like it was just another day at the office, “How ‘bout a coffee, Rogers?”

He did his best to sound casual when he replied, “Yeah, sure.”

You clearly didn’t just mean coffee.

Your hands were a little shaky as you selected the right key and opened the lock; then you dumped your clutch and keys in the bowl near the door and your new blanket on the sofa. You immediately missed the soft fleece on your fingertips. 

“Here, you sit down,” you told him. “I’ll brew a pot.” 

Steve did as you requested, sitting awkwardly in an armchair while you went to prepare the coffee. He hadn’t been in your apartment before, but he liked the décor and you kept it relatively tidy. It was sweet. It was you. 

Not that he could particularly focus on that at the moment. All he could focus on was that everything smelled like you, and it made his cock even harder than it had already been for the last hour or two. At this point, it was becoming almost painful but he couldn’t find it in himself to leave and sort it out on his own. He wanted you to do it for him. Not that he’d ever say it outright. 

You quickly checked the clock on the wall and found that it actually wasn’t even all that late, yet – around eleven, yet you were in no condition to keep partying. If it was with Steve, though, then maybe you could go for a little while longer. You were still feeling so, _so_ good, after all.

After a couple of minutes, you finally handed him a plain black coffee and then sat on the sofa across from him, taking a sip of yours. It was hot. The burn on your tongue paled in comparison to the stifling heat in between your legs.

“What a night, huh?” you said with a breathy laugh. In the relatively dim lighting, you couldn’t help but admire his face, the tight button-down shirt on his body, the way just one of his large hands held your coffee mug when you had to use two. Not to mention the fact that it was just you and him, here. Alone. “God, I don’t even remember what the movie was. Do you?”

Steve felt your eyes on him, watched as they drifted down his body, and it did nothing to quell the fire burning inside him. The two of you were very clearly alone. The thought excited him just as much as it terrified him. If this was going where he thought it was going – where he _wanted_ it to be going – he wasn’t going to be able to resist. Not when he was feeling like this.

“I don’t either,” he agreed absently, taking a sip of the coffee you’d prepared for him.

When you shifted in your seat, trying to will away the heat in between your legs, the leather of your thigh holster started to pinch at your thigh. It was a little uncomfortable, now, because you’d been wearing it for a few hours. Without thinking, you put your foot up on the coffee table and slowly slid it down your bare leg. You were back in your apartment now and you had plenty of other guns stashed around, so it wasn’t like you needed to keep wearing it.

You dropped it with a loud _thud_ onto the coffee table. Then you looked back up at him, and immediately froze. His eyes were dark and fixed on your thighs, fixed exactly where—

Oh.

Oh, _shit._

You’d just flashed him your panties.

“I just— Christ, I’m so sorry, Cap,” you babbled in embarrassment, yanking your foot off the table. “My holster was pinching, and I didn’t mean to—to—”

The tension was so thick, you could have cut it with a knife.

He licked his lips. Your panties were even wetter than before. Jesus Christ.

“It’s okay,” he reassured you, but his voice was low and rough and the way he was looking at you made you feel like you were going to explode. You wanted to feel his hands on you. You wanted to feel his fingers trace sweet, lazy patterns on your skin again. You wanted to feel his lips on you like nothing you’d ever wanted before.

It was ridiculous how much you wanted to fuck him.

That was when the cramps started – painful, sharp cramps that made you wince and hold your abdomen in pain. Steve was next to you in a flash, his large hand rubbing hot fire against your bare back as he checked on you, asked what’s wrong, if you’re alright—

And then they subsided as quickly as they came. In their wake it left you a shaking, gasping mess – not from pain, but from desire. Your body ached in a way that only his hand on your back was able to soothe. Your core was throbbing, clenching around absolutely nothing and that alone was torturous in its own way.

“I’m okay, Steve,” you ground out in a breathy, hushed voice that went straight to his cock. “I’m fine. It was just a cramp.”

It wasn’t just a cramp.

He swallowed thickly. Your skin beneath his fingertips burned to the touch; it was almost as hot as he felt, and he started to wonder if whatever was affecting him was affecting you, too.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

If that was the case, he needed to keep his distance. He didn’t want to take advantage of you if you were feeling even just an inkling like he was, so turned on and downright fucking insatiable. He made a point of returning to the armchair, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. If he was in his right mind, he would have just left altogether – but he wasn’t. Neither were you.

You turned on the TV to some stupid late-night show, but neither of you were watching it. Instead, you were sneaking glances at each other. The cramps came and went, and you just grit your teeth and dealt with them: inhaling in through your nose, out through your mouth. Every time he looked over at you to make sure you were okay, you gave him a curt nod but every single time made you want to fuck him even more.

You knew he was only staying to make sure you’d make it through whatever the hell this was. Steve was a good person. He wouldn’t let you suffer.

Steve wouldn’t let you suffer.

No, he’d help you.

He’d help you if you asked.

That hazy reasoning was perhaps why you finally pulled yourself to your feet and made your way over to him, almost in a daze. You couldn’t help the extra sway of your hips, and you didn’t bother to pull down your skirt. It had ridden up again from sitting down, and while you weren’t quite flashing him again, it was a very close call. Not that you even noticed. 

Maybe you’d sit just a little bit closer. Maybe you’d touch him again. He didn’t pull away the last time. Maybe he’d even touch _you_.

As you approached, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He blindly sat down his coffee onto the table and leaned back in the chair as you ever-so-slowly came to stand in between his spread legs. Christ, you were gorgeous. You were so fucking pretty, and all he wanted to do was kiss you, worship you, feel you writhe underneath him.

Seeing the way you were looking at him, worrying your lower lip in between your teeth, shattered his resolve. Steve knew exactly what you wanted. It was the same way you’d been looking at Bucky earlier. He held out his hand to you, easy, casual, and you took it without a second thought.

Then you were straddling in his lap, your knees on either side of him, staring into his eyes for the briefest of moments – and then your lips were hot on his because you just couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. It wasn’t a sweet, gentle kiss, but wholly passionate, one that he responded to in such a way that it instantly took your breath away. His tongue swept into your mouth far too easily and you let him dominate you, every inch of you. Your skin burned everywhere he touched, his hands sliding up and down your sides, gripping your ass, anywhere he could reach.

“Fuck,” you breathed when his lips moved to your neck, and he sucked at a particularly sensitive spot there that made your back arch into him. “God, Steve—”

You felt like you could come right this second. It felt so, so good and he hadn’t even touched you anywhere else.

Another cramp hit, and it made you whimper – but he just captured your lips with his again, swallowing the sound as he held your hips down so that you could grind against him. The clothed, intimate contact didn’t alleviate the cramps, but it was a wonderful distraction. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer.

You only broke away for a split second to catch your breath, and when you did, the words spilled out of your mouth almost on instinct. “Fuck me, Steve, _please._ ” 

Your voice was whiny and desperate and begging and he nearly couldn’t keep himself in check. It actually pained him to turn you down, he wanted it so much. “Sweetheart, no, you’ve been drinking—” 

Then you winced as another cramp hit, your fingers tightly gripping his hair. They were starting to come more frequently, now, and you were starting to figure out why. You were too worked up, too turned on, too ready to take every fucking inch of him like you’d been wanting to for months. You must have been drugged somehow, but right now you didn’t care at all. All you wanted was for him to finally put you out of your misery.

He hated to see you in pain, but it clearly had something to do with whatever the hell it was the two of you had breathed in at the warehouse and if he could help alleviate that pain, he’d do it in an instant.

He finally lost that long, arduous battle with his self-control.

Steve used one hand to lift you up just enough so that his other could deftly unbuckle his belt; a quick zip followed, and then you felt the heft of his bare cock against your damp panties. You let out another breathy whimper at the feeling, and it made him twitch against the delicate fabric.

He could feel how wet you were. He’d seen it already, but now he could feel it, too.

When you let go of his hair to pull your g-string to the side, too hurried to even take it off, you used your other hand to grip his thick length and he took in a sharp breath at the feeling of your fingers wrapped around him. You weren’t even going to take off your panties, you were so desperate to have him inside you. The sudden realization of that made his cock throb in your small hand.

When the head brushed against your slick folds, both of you paused for the briefest of seconds to let out a sigh – and then you lined him up, before you sank down onto him all at once. You were absolutely _soaked_ and he slid inside way too easily.

Your eyes immediately fluttered shut at the feeling. Steve’s cock was so thick, and he stretched you out so much, so perfectly that you couldn’t help but moan and slide your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body tightly against his. 

“Christ,” he breathed against your neck, his lips against your pulse. “You feel so fucking _good_. So wet for me.”

Steve Rogers liked dirty talk. That was a surprising discovery.

“Yeah,” you moaned, grinding your hips into his in a stuttered, uneven rhythm. “All for you, Steve. Always for you.”

His hands were firm on your hips as he rocked you in a steadier rhythm, one that was rough and almost punishing. You could take it. He knew you could by the way you were babbling swears and sweet, breathy whispers of his name, begging him for more _–_ all sorts of filthy things that spurred him on.

“Didn’t even take these off—” His fingers snapped the elastic of your panties against your hip, and you whimpered at the blissful pain. “You just couldn’t wait for me to fuck you, could you?”

Truth be told, you couldn’t. Not that you could even verbalize it.

As if the dirty talk wasn’t enough, his cock was reaching spots inside you that you’d never felt before. That, coupled with the fact that you were out of your mind on something – some drug – had you feeling absolutely amazing. It didn’t even register in your mind that the cramps weren’t exactly cramps anymore. Instead, every time one hit, it just sent you higher.

Steve gathered you in his arms, then, and lifted you only to lay you down onto the sofa. The chill of cold leather was a stark contrast to your sweaty skin. He slung one of your legs over his shoulder before he slid inside you again, and the new angle drove you even closer to the brink. There was power behind his thrusts that he couldn’t quite achieve with you in his lap, but now, you got to experience exactly what it was like to be fucked with that enhanced strength of his and you loved every fucking second of it.

He set a fast, brutal pace that sent you reeling, made you grasp at anything you could reach – the fleece blanket, his shirt, a throw pillow, his ass. You writhed so much that he had to hold your thigh firmly against his chest, otherwise you’d squirm right off the sofa. Your walls were squeezing him so tightly, and despite knowing how close you were it was incredibly difficult for him to hold back long enough for you to get yours.

“ _Fuck_ , sweetheart,” he swore, holding onto you like his life depended on it. Hearing him curse brought you higher. “You gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

But you couldn’t really comprehend what he was saying anymore. His name fell off your lips like a prayer, over and over and over until you absolutely shattered under him, your back arching as you fell apart. Seeing your fucked-out face and feeling your tight heat clench around him was what pushed him over the edge, and he buried himself as far as he could go with a low groan, spilling inside of you as you milked him of every single drop.

There were aftershocks as the two of you just lay there with him still throbbing inside of you, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He was still rock hard, and you felt downright insatiable, but the cramps were gone at least and your head was finally starting to clear. 

“Steve, we just…” you started to say, looking up at him with apprehension.

His eyes widened just a little, then, as if he suddenly realized what the two of you had just done, before he carefully pulled out of your slick heat – too carefully, like he’d taken advantage of you. Even still, the drag of your tight walls against made him grit his teeth, and the quiet gasp you released at the feeling was like music to his ears.

Something had come over him and he hadn’t been able to hold himself back. 

Neither had you.

“I think something happened during the mission,” he explained, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. He wasn’t as successful as he would have liked. “Something in the air. I’m sorry, I should have been able to keep myself in check.”

What he said made you think back to the warehouse. You did remember the sickeningly sweet smell in the air. Was it toxic? It certainly didn’t seem to be, aside from the very obvious side effects that made you act so wanton.

You swallowed thickly and readjusted your clothing, the tension awkward and almost stifling – not that it helped at all. His cum was already starting to drip down the insides of your thighs and it only served to work you up even further. 

You wanted more.

When you caught him staring at the mess he’d made of you, it made your cheeks flush even more.

Steve was just being nice by apologizing and taking the blame for this. In all actuality he probably just thought you were easy. Of course he would. You always dressed so trashy on Friday nights, and now you’d gone and fucked him just because he was there. Even if it really was because of something the two of you breathed in, or whatever bullshit lie that was, you still fucked him so easily. It was humiliating.

Still, it did feel like you were drugged, and you’d never known Steve Rogers to be a liar. 

“I’m not usually one to sleep around either,” you joked, but it came out sounding kind of pathetic, not like a joke at all.

His eyes shot from your glistening core to your face, and you found him looking at you the same way he had on the Quinjet – like a goddess. Then he gave you an apologetic smile. “I know. This wasn’t you.”

At that, you bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were still that sweet, gentle baby blue you’d always loved, even though his pupils were still blown from what the two of you had just done. In every way, he was gorgeous. You’d been wanting to fuck him for months, and now, you finally had.

The way he was looking at you only served to embolden you like the fool you were for him. “What if it _was_ me?”

Steve noticeably tensed at your question, and you quickly looked away out of embarrassment, focusing on some magazine on your coffee table.

Oh, that was stupid. You shouldn’t have asked. Of course he hadn’t wanted this – he’d been so adamant that it had been his fault, that he’d lost control, that whatever the two of you had breathed in was to blame.

He was clearly an unwilling participant.

He’d been drugged, _forced_ to do this.

You hadn’t.

“Was it?” he responded carefully.

You chewed your lip as you slowly, hesitantly risked a look back over at him – and you absolutely loved the sight, seeing him so dishevelled because of you. You rarely got the opportunity to see him as anything but the prim and proper Captain you’d come to know and love. It was a little fucked up, honestly, because he hadn’t wanted to do any of it but you still relished in seeing him so undone. 

Steve’s eyes searched yours for an answer, but you didn’t offer one. He didn’t either.

Instead, you pulled yourself to your feet and, although your legs felt like jelly, you did your best to ignore it. You had a good working relationship with him, and you didn’t want to complicate things by admitting your feelings after some drunken romp as much as you desperately wanted to.

“It’s late,” you told him, deflecting his question.

When you went to move away from the sofa, however, his hand caught your wrist. His fingers were still so hot on your skin and you shivered from the sudden contact.

“Don’t change the subject.”

There was just a hint of command in his voice, and you did your best to keep calm when you met his eyes again – but he’d seen right through you. He always saw right through you. 

“We work together,” you said, as if that was a good enough answer.

It wasn’t.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he told you, his thumb gently stroking the skin on the underside of your wrist.

“I’ve been drinking,” was your next excuse – but at this point you were very clearly stone cold sober. 

Steve just shrugged. “So have I.”

You knew just as well as he did that alcohol had no effect on him.

“Well, I—“ you started to make another excuse when he tugged on your wrist just hard enough to pull you into his lap, effectively cutting you off. Your legs were on either side of him again, and you were all but forced to acknowledge the fact that he was still rock hard for you and you desperately wanted more, too.

In a stark contrast, his hand came up to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone, and he whispered, “You’re making excuses, doll.”

You swallowed thickly, your cheeks flushing under his touch.

“I don’t want this to be a one-night thing, Steve,” you finally admitted. “What’s going to happen in the morning?”

“I was thinking breakfast,” he responded with a smile – genuine, real. “How do you like your eggs?”

At that, you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. You knew he had no idea that what he’d just said was a pickup line, which made it even more sweet that he was offering to make you breakfast. It made your heart flutter just a little.

Hesitantly, you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It wasn’t anything like the heated ones from before, and he didn’t try to deepen it at all; instead, he slid his arms around your waist to hold you closer. It was purely affectionate, even though you could feel how worked up he still was. You were too.

When you pulled away, you smiled back at him.

“I’d be happy with anything,” you offered, before you rolled your hips against his and he took in a sharp breath at the friction, “but I think we’ve got another problem to sort out first.”

This time, he leaned forward to capture your lips with his - slow, but passionate. The kiss took your breath away just as easily as the first, especially when his tongue explored your mouth with such familiarity, now, that you barely even realized he’d ripped your g-string to shreds.

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed against your lips, before he started to kiss a blazing trail to your ear. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful. You know that?”

Something had changed between the two of you. This was _intimate,_ now, despite his filthy mouth.

“Why do you think I always change on the plane?” you teased, but your voice was breathy. “I wanted to show you—”

Then his lips were on yours again, swallowing anything else you planned to say.

You hadn’t imagined the tension between the two of you at all. No, you’d been right all along. 


End file.
